


Little or nothing

by elisabethjj



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, M/M, POV Third Person, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Prostitution, Sex Work, Stripping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 06:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisabethjj/pseuds/elisabethjj
Summary: In 2014, while Steve and Tony search for Bucky after the fall of the Triskelion, JARVIS uncovers evidence of a nineteen year old girl, living in Arizona, with James Barnes’s paternal DNA.Naturally, Steve goes all in.





	Little or nothing

**Part One**

It’s been a busy night, and Hannah wants nothing more than to go home and wash the scent of stale beer, sweat and horny guys off her skin, but it’s barely three a.m., so that’s not on the cards for a while yet. They’ve all got to work until close, which is five on a weekend. It’ll be nearly light by the time Hannah gets back to her apartment, and miles to go before she…you get the drift. 

She’s fresh off a stint on the main stage, taking a quick break to freshen up and safely stash the tips she’s just earned in her locker. Hannah had stripped down to her G-string during her last dance, but now she’s heading back onto the floor she’s wriggled back into a skin-tight, cobalt blue dress that flashes her butt cheeks whilst simultaneously making the most of her Wonderbra-assisted C cups. In the grand tradition of strippers everywhere, her towering silver diamante-encrusted heels look like actual deadly weapons. 

Catching her reflection in one of the many dressing room mirrors, Hannah smirks at the picture she makes. What a walking cliché. It’s still unbelievable to her that this unimaginative shit is what gets guys opening their wallets. 

Speaking of which, she isn’t making any bank loitering back here in the dressing room. 

“Heading back out.” Hannah aims the comment at the bleached-blonde head snorting powder off the dressing table next to her. 

“Me too, chica, one moment,” Soph says, straightening up and wiping at her nose. 

Hannah keeps her face carefully judgement-free. Soph has been bright spot of kindness in an otherwise shitty year, but there’s no denying the girl is a hot mess. Still, she looks badass in her black lace dress that’s one step removed from lingerie, and her trademark heavily-Kohl-lined eyes. 

The girls hit the club floor together, then immediately split when Soph spots one of her regulars across the room. Hannah hits up Hendrix, her favourite security guy, for a smoke—he’s always got a spare for her—and takes a long drag before heading over to one of the seating areas. A couple of punters are already turning her way with interest, so she figures her chances of selling a few lap dances before close are decent. Maybe she can even talk one of them into upgrading to the VIP room. But she doesn’t end up getting that far. 

The guy who stops her is thirty-something, with a buzz cut and that patented off-duty military vibe, and he wants her to go with him to one of the downstairs rooms. 

Hannah hesitates, treading water with a flirtatious smile and some small talk while she considers. She doesn’t make a habit of the downstairs rooms. It’s an easy way to make more money, sure, but having sex for cash is decidedly different from stripping on stage, or even a private lap dance. Over half the girls that strip here will work downstairs, too.   
Whatever you might say about The Blue Dog—and people say plenty, it’s got a reputation for all kinds of seedy debauchery—Griff who runs the place doesn’t pressure the girls to offer more than dancing. There’s always plenty who will do so happily, and that’s enough to keep business booming. 

Hannah’s done it a few times, with guys she’s found attractive. And a few more times with guys she hasn’t particularly liked, when she’s really needed the money. Soph does it a lot more, recently, regardless of who the guy is, and Hannah’s pretty sure that the increase in the stuff her friend’s shoving up her nose these days is a direct correlation to how often she’s spreading her legs for random men. She gets it, sure. It’s a lot of money for only a little work, but it’s not easy work, and a lot of the girls choose to soften the edges. Soph has been doing this longer than Hannah, so she tries not to judge, tries not to worry that she’s looking at her own not-too-distant future. 

Still, military guy’s proposition is enough to make her consider. The timing makes it difficult to reject the idea out of hand—her fridge is leaking and, almost a week ago, the boiler started making a dubious grinding noise. An extra cash injection right now would really sort her out. And the dude doesn’t give her creepy vibes; if anything, he seems unusually respectful of her. He’s not so much as touched her so far. 

Perhaps sensing her hesitation, military guy presses enough bills in her hand to easily make this her highest earning night ever at The Blue Dog. Hannah’s eyes widen. 

“For your time,” the guy says, and Hannah’s misgivings disintegrate like wet tissue in the face of this level of payday. She only hopes he doesn’t want anything too freaky for this much cash. But, well, this isn’t a sex dungeon, and the downstairs rooms aren’t equipped with anything except lube and condoms, so how weird could things really get? She can handle anal, if it comes to that, for that much money. She can even handle a little rough play. If things go south, she can hit the wall buzzer and have a bouncer there in ten seconds. It’s never happened to her yet, and she’s not too worried. 

“You just want normal sex?” Hannah questions, checking anyway, even as she stubs her cigarette out and tucks the wad of cash into her bra. 

“I promise you have nothing to worry about,” the guy says, which is…huh, well it’s an odd way to phrase it. But, okay. 

“Let’s go, handsome.”

Hannah catches Soph’s eye while military guy is getting patted down by security at the top of the stairs. The blonde girl pauses with a vodka tonic halfway to her lips, raising her eyebrow in silent question. Hannah gives her a discrete nod and Soph pulls a silly face at her, then blows her a quick kiss before turning her attention back to the punter next to her. It makes Hannah smile, and then she’s taking the guy’s hand and leading him downstairs.

Big Mike’s running the downstairs rooms tonight. He’s not the friendliest of the security dudes, but Hannah respects his non-nonsense attitude. It’s good etiquette—and pure common sense—to pay the bouncers their cut up front, so she peels a few bills out of her bra as she approaches him, nodding in response to the “a’ight” mumbled when he takes the money from her. Mike gives Hannah a long, strangely intense look as she passes, which she puts down to the fact she doesn’t all that regularly turn tricks, but he waves them through to the room right at the end of the corridor, closest to the fire exit. 

Hannah’s halfway into the room before she clocks that there’s a man already in there, his huge frame taking up half of the tacky, plum velvet sofa, a baseball cap obscuring most of his face. 

“Oh, fuck.” 

She freezes, while her brain spins through the ways this is not a good development. One-on-one is risky enough: she’s definitely not up for two guys running train on her, or whatever the hell this is. How did this guy even get down here, unless… She flashes back to the weird moment with Big Mike in the hall. Did they pay him off or something? In which case, she’s on her own, without back up. Big Mike’s always been straight shooting, though. What the hell is going on here? 

“Woah,” the guy in the baseball cap says, standing quickly and holding his hands up placatingly. “It’s fine. You’re not in any danger, I promise.” His eyes flick behind her. “Ames, give us the room.”

Hannah whips her head round in time to see military guy—actually, an on-the-job security guy, apparently—give her a wry smile, and shut the door, leaving her alone in the room with the newcomer. She turns back and looks at the man standing in front of her. There’s something familiar about him. He’s dressed casually, in jeans and a long-sleeved tee that does nothing to understate his huge pecs and biceps. As she watches, he removes his baseball cap and rakes a hand through short blond hair. 

Holy fuck. It’s Captain America. 

Captain America is soliciting sex in a middle-of-the-road strip club in Arizona.

“I don’t understand,” Hannah says, although actually the generous upfront cash and the cloak and dagger client switcheroo do make more sense now. “You sent that guy to bring a stripper downstairs for you?”

Captain America’s face does a complicated thing that might be a suppressed flinch.

“Not exactly,” he says. It’s a trip hearing his voice in person, rather than on the news or a talk show. It’s slightly deeper than expected, and somehow projects extreme competence without arrogance. “I asked Agent Ames to find you, in particular.”

Hannah’s rallying now. So Cap’s a pervert underneath that Original Boy Scout reputation. Sure. What man isn’t? It’s… well, maybe a touch depressing, but that’s the world for you. Captain America’s just a guy. She’s 99.9% sure he’s got the same deal going on underneath his expensive jeans as the rest of them. 

“Really? I’m flattered, Captain.” Hannah unpeels herself from the doorway and takes a couple of steps across the room towards her guest. She toys with one of the shiny, chestnut curls falling around her shoulders. “And now that you’ve got me all to yourself,” she smiles flirtatiously up through her lashes, “what will you do with me?”  
Captain America gives her a tight smile. 

“I just want to talk,” he says. “And, please, call me Steve.”

Hannah is momentarily thrown. Who the hell seeks a stripper out and pays her, like, a lot of money, to talk?

Steve must see the confusion written on her face, because his own stance softens. 

“Look, I didn’t start this right. My name is Steve Rogers—you obviously know the name I’m better known by. I’m not here for…what this room is usually used for. I’ve been looking for you, Hannah—that’s you, right? Hannah Cobb. Born Ana Cobălcescu.”

That makes Hannah’s head jerk up.

“Your mother emigrated to America with you, when you were two. She changed your names then, to help you both fit in. She passed eighteen months ago.” Steve shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Hannah.”

Alarm bells are ringing now. Drawing attention is never good when you live the kind of lifestyle Hannah does, but drawing the attention of someone as powerful as an Avenger? Really undesirable. Damn, she wishes she’d eaten dinner earlier. Her head is starting to spin, and she needs to keep her guard up. 

“How do you know that? Why are you looking for me? Am I in some kind of trouble?” 

Steve sighs. He looks… Hannah doesn’t know his face except from the TV, but the dude looks tired. He motions to the sofa.

“Kid, will you have a seat? You’re not in any trouble. Nothing bad’s gonna happen.” 

Tentatively, Hannah sits on the edge of the bed, facing the sofa. She has to wiggle to make sure the ridiculously short dress covers her butt as she does—not something she’s usually worrying about by this point. If Steve notices as he also takes a seat, he’s a gentleman about not saying anything. In fact, Hannah realises the guy’s eyes haven’t tracked lower than her chin since she’s walked in. It weirdly unsettles her.

“Not so much a kid.” She makes a point of gesturing to the room they’re in—the king size bed dominating the space. 

“Nineteen next August,” Steve says. “Too young to be working here.”

Hannah bristles. She doesn’t like that he knows her age—her real age, not the one on the ID she gave Griff when she got this job—and God knows what else about her, and she certainly doesn’t appreciate his judgement.

“You want to start paying my rent and bills for me, jackass? I’ll quit tomorrow.”

Steve meets her pissed-off gaze, with bright, turbulent eyes. 

“Deal.”

That stops Hannah in her tracks. 

“What?”

“Deal,” Steve repeats, firmly. “I want to make sure you’re taken care of. You’ll have somewhere nice to live, you won’t have to pay any bills and, I don’t know, you can get a job that   
you really want. Or go to school. Or, whatever you like.”

Hannah stares at Steve’s stupidly open face. 

“You want to…be my sugar daddy?” she asks, slowly.

“Jeez, no.” Steve looks a little ill. “This is nothing like that. I want to be your friend. Just that, nothing….else.”

He must think she’s an idiot. 

“What. The fuck. Are you talking about?” She’s almost at the point of walking out of the room, Captain America or no. “Why would you want to do that for me? You don’t even know me.”

“You’re right,” Steve hold his hands up. “I don’t know you. I only found out about you a few days ago, and this wasn’t the best plan for getting to speak to you, but I thought it might frighten you if I turned up at your apartment… Look.” Steve takes a deep breath. “We don’t know each other, but your dad was my best friend.”

“I don’t have a dad.” Hannah is just about at the end of her tether with this bizarre conversation. 

Captain America sets his jaw. It’s quite intimidating, in person. Up close, he’s not the caricature they make him out to be in those dumb motivational videos all the high schools use. He’s a real guy. And, sure, he’s kind of stupidly handsome, but he’s also frickin’ huge.

“In 1995, your mother was working as a housekeeper for Mihai Lupu in Constanta, Romania. It was the year Lupu was assassinated for his links to the KGB. It was also the year your mother got pregnant with you. Your ma thought your pa was a Russian mechanic, just moved to the city. That’s what he told her. But he was actually an American. James Buchanan Barnes. You know who that is?”

Hannah frowns. “Should I?”

Steve sighs, something painful flashing in his eyes.

‘It’s a long story, and now’s probably not the time for it. I want to tell you everything, though. You should know about him. He’s a hero, and one of the best men I’ve ever known and—’ Steve breaks off, lips twisting into a sad smile. ‘I didn’t know about you, Hannah, or I’d have come sooner.’ 

Hannah doesn’t know what to make of this guy. This is all… It’s a lot. She’s barely processing the loss of her mother, getting used to being all alone, and now Captain America is saying, what? 

‘You’re not alone anymore,’ he says, as if he’s read her mind. ‘I’m not trying to push in on your life, but… Hannah, I want to get to know you, and I want to be there for you. I’m saying, kid, as far as I’m concerned,’—Captain America smiles softly, a look Hannah’s never seen on the televised interviews—‘you’re family.’ 

Hannah stares at him, blinks once and tilts her head.

‘Huh.’


End file.
